'Tis but a lie,
Said the man to his whiskey,
Salt and Pepper flakes,
Long beaten his face away.
He looked up and said,
Oh she spoke,
About leaving, going away,
goodbye and good riddance.
'Tis but a lie, he grinned.
The whiskey never answered.

The wife looked up at her husband,
She couldn't see clearly,
Surely he didn't strike her,
He loved her, he said,
she felt, they had kids together,
It's fine, it's a bad night,
'Tis but a lie, she thought to herself.
Her mind soon went blank.

The motherless boy walked through the streets of Berlin,
Alone, but guided, but instinct,
through the long red district,
You'll find your mother here,
He was told. He found her here, there, everywhere,
His little boy eyes, were never so wide,
full of unspeakable things, as they laughed,
and he died inside,
"Your mother," Said the ******,
"Why she
'Tis but a lie."

The old man was in his bed. Alone.
He thought back to all those years ago.
From the streets of Berlin,
to the wife he beat out,
to the whiskey he enjoyed, on the bar that night,
Had he ever been happy?
He thought long and hard,
and a tear almost tore out but,
he smiled, told the shadow,
"I'm very happy today,
'Tis but a lie,
My whole ******* life,
'Tis but the biggest ******* lie."
And he died, not too long thereafter,
He died and,
Uncaring the world,
kept spinning away.